How wonderfully devious of Miss Abbott.

“But the fellows you set to watch for her were supposedly a sharp-eyed bunch, Fleming. Now you tell me this woman is strutting about on the arm of Lord Stephen Wentworth in the middle of Mayfair?”

“His family hails from Yorkshire. Maybe he and Miss Abbott know each other from up north.”

Stapleton remained silent, tapping his steepled index fingers against his lips. Fleming was supposed to squirm and fret as the silence lengthened, but he mostly seemed annoyed.

“You promised to smooth the way for me with Lady Champlain,” Fleming said. “I’ve wasted plenty of coin and time in a nearly criminal pursuit on your behalf. You still haven’t told me what this is all about, and I have yet to so much as stand up with Harmonia.”

“That’s Lady Champlain to you.”

“She said I could call her Harmonia, and she fluttered her fan as she said it.”

Stapleton’s hands dropped to the blotter. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know, but m’sister claims the ladies use their fans to say what can’t be said in polite conversation.”

Lord Stephen Wentworth knew the languages of the fan, glove, flower, and parasol. He was a better flirt sitting in his Bath chair than Fleming could be in his most inspired moments. If Miss Abbott was keeping company with Lord Stephen, she had good taste in escorts.

Troublingly good taste.

“Lady Champlain is the pattern card of decorum,” Stapleton said, “as any proper widow must be if she wants to remain a part of her son’s life. She will attend Lady Portman’s ball.”

That was news to Harmonia. Lord Portman was young, Whiggish, and always spouting off about reform. His family had an old title, and the previous generation had married new money. Papa-in-Law had no time for Portman or his ilk.

“You’re telling me I’ll have an opportunity to stand up with her?” Fleming asked, facing the desk.

“You might. Her Grace of Walden has come safely through another confinement—a fourth girl, may the Almighty be thanked for small favors—and that means Walden might not attend. Lord Stephen will likely have to carry the family standard because Portman and Walden are as thick as a pair of drunken drovers when it comes to the blasted child labor bills. If Lord Stephen is smitten with Miss Abbott, he’ll escort her.”

Fleming leaned across the blotter, hands braced on the desk. “Lord Stephen has a reputation for dueling first and ignoring all questions. I am not kidnapping Miss Abbott from a Mayfair ballroom. Not for you, not even for the promise of marriage to Harmonia.”